


Revelations

by shippingsailor



Category: Divergent (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9319418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shippingsailor/pseuds/shippingsailor
Summary: Story opens with Tris's attempted murder at the Chasm. Peter and Drew have another, more sinister agenda (NOTE WARNINGS; opening scene and later events may be triggering; proceed with caution), but Eric intervenes. Eric insists Tris spend the night in his apartment, and this sets the stage for the development of a complicated relationship between them. (Slow burn; no immediate smut, but rest assured it's coming.) Eric/Tris is the primary romantic relationship and events diverge (haha, pun intended) from books and movie.Work in progress. Also, I suck at titles.





	1. The Chasm

**Author's Note:**

> Characters are loosely based on movie/book versions, as I confess to not doing nearly enough research to refresh my memory about all of the details and stay strictly in character, so apologies to purists. Eric is the movie version, as this story arose because actor Jai Courtney tickled my fancy and that presented an opportunity to reinvent Eric in different ways. Everyone is also the age they appear in the movie, so probably early 20s. I do not own any characters, so kudos to Veronica Roth for this particular playground.

Chapter 1: The Chasm

(WARNING: Read summary and note archive warnings; potentially triggering events)

“Shame to send her over without a little fun.” Peter’s voice, and she felt his hand creep up under her shirt and close over her breast, squeezing roughly. She arched her back and screamed against the hand over her mouth, trying to leverage herself away from the invading touch.

“She’d probably rather die a virgin than do anything with you,” Drew mocked. “Me, on the other hand…” Tris felt hands on her hips as he drew her toward him, griding his pelvis against hers as his hands slid down over her buttocks. They laughed harshly.

“Cut it out.” A softer voice, familiar. Al? Tris’s throat constricted.

Ignoring Al, Peter grabbed Tris by the hair at the back of her neck and pushed her hard against the railing; distracted by the cold bite of metal against her spine, she didn’t anticipate his free hand snaking down the front of her pants. “Let’s see what you’ve got for us, little Stiff,” he whispered against her cheek, and Tris felt one long finger curl upward and slide into her. “Tight,” he sighed, and bit her neck. Tris gritted her teeth and tossed her head back and forth. A second finger, stretching painfully. “Not so stiff after all, are you, Tris?” Her name on his lips sent a chill through her; she almost preferred the derogatory alternative. The part of her brain that wasn’t filled with primal rage and disgust registered that their little diversions with her body were probably the only thing that had prevented them from pitching her over the edge already; if she could endure long enough to figure out how to use it against them, she might just survive this.

Suddenly, there were the sounds of a scuffle, and Tris was released, banging the back of her head on the railing as she was jostled, lost her footing blindly, and abruptly fell down beside it. Mercifully, Peter’s hands were gone, but she felt slightly sick and couldn’t quite catch her breath; the bag over her head was suffocating, flush against her mouth. The meaty thumps of fists contacting bodies surrounded her, followed by the scramble of feet finding purchase on metal and dashing away.

“That’s right, you’d better run!” a deep voice rumbled beside her, full of venom. It sounded like… _Eric._

Strong hands were around her waist, steadying her as she got to her feet. Then the bag was hastily pulled off of her head.

“Stiff?”

She squinted, coughed, nodded, seeing Eric’s pinched face floating above her like they were both in a dream.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, and he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her around the corner and a few paces down the hall. He opened a door, stepped through it, and deposited her unceremoniously onto a couch. Disoriented, Tris looked around at a Spartan, if tastefully furnished, apartment. It would seem Eric lived a few steps from the chasm. _Suits him_ , she found herself musing absently. He had turned his back on her and was noisily sorting through bottles on a nearby table. He returned with something golden in an unmarked decanter and two small glasses. Eric poured three fingers into each and shoved one her way, throwing his back quickly as he leaned against a bookcase opposite the couch. Tris reached for the glass and realized her hands were still tied. She glanced up and Eric was regarding her with an unreadable expression over the rim of his glass. She raised her eyebrows and looked purposefully at her wrists. A switchblade appeared with a lightening-quick movement, and Eric leaned across the table and cut the ropes; the knife disappeared back into some hidden pocket.

“Thanks,” Tris muttered, rubbing her wrists. She picked up the glass and downed it, trying not to cough as the fiery substance seared its way down her throat and settled like a burning coal under her diaphragm. When she set the empty tumbler down on the tabletop, it clanked loudly against the glass. Her hands were shaking.

Eric chuckled darkly. “Not much of a drinker, Stiff.” It wasn’t a question. He poured both of them another round regardless. The warmth from the first shot was creeping through her chest, thawing the edges of the icy fury that had seemingly replaced her heart; Tris eagerly downed the second without the same degree of difficulty.

“But you learn fast,” Eric observed, still watching her. The liquor hit her hard; must be the adrenaline. _I almost died. They tried to kill me._ Peter was no surprise, but Al? Her face set in a mask of anger and tears clouded her vision, and the echo of their hands burned on her skin. She shuddered, remembering too clearly the feeling of Peter’s fingers delving into her body, huge and foreign. And then Eric had come.

“Why’d you stop them?” she asked, feeling simultaneously emboldened and lightheaded.

Eric didn’t flinch. “Dauntless leadership frowns on initiates killing each other,” he said dismissively.

So he hadn't noticed their other agenda, Tris realized, and she preferred to keep it that way. She scowled up at him. “You’d hardly miss me. You’ve been busily making my life hell since I arrived. I’m surprised you didn’t pitch me over yourself.”

Eric stared at her, his hooded eyes somewhere between blue and grey. He was blunt and harsh and utterly unflinching, which was strangely compelling. “They’re cowards. Three on one; pathetic boys intimidated by a little girl. That’s not my style.”

Tris bristled. “Little girl?” She stood up and marched toward the door, disgusted. She’d had enough of men and threats and bravado and belittlement for one night. Eric was behind her before she heard anything, spinning her with one hand on her shoulder and pressing her hard against the wall beside the door with the full length of his body. He grabbed her wrists and clamped them fast in one hand above her head. His eyes bore into hers as her face shot up toward his, shocked.

“Yes. Little. Girl.” He punctuated his words with rough force, crushing the breath from her. “And don’t forget it, or you will end up dead.” His body was as unyielding as a truck, and for the first time Tris was truly scared of Eric. He held on a moment longer, then relaxed.

She let out a loud breath as Eric released her and stepped away. “You blow the simulations out of the water, Stiff, but you’re still small and weak, so men like me will always be able to overpower you. You’ve got to be faster, smarter, warier -- and until you are, don’t let your pride blind you to your weaknesses. You can’t afford it, not when you’re climbing up the ranks as fast as you are.”

Eric was helping her – for the second time tonight - she realized suddenly, and the revelation was more surprising than being trapped by him against a wall. “Making enemies faster than muscles?” she suggested, grinning stupidly. Eric stared at her, unmoved. Tris schooled her face again. _No sense of humor._ “Okay, Eric, I get it. Thanks. Can I go now?”

“No,” he said without hesitation, and Tris was taken aback. No explanation seemed to be forthcoming.

“Why not?”

“I want you to stay here,” he said with finality, as if the discussion was closed despite the fact that his answer only raised more questions.

“But ..I…” He watched her sputter in silence, daring her to challenge him. _What was that supposed to mean? What would I say to Christina? What if Four found out? Does that matter?… Why the hell does Eric want me to sleep in his apartment?_ He was staring at her stonily, and Tris realized how fruitless it would be to ask any of those questions. At last, she shrugged. “Fine.”

He didn’t answer, just poured two more shots and handed one over. This time, Tris sipped, watching Eric surreptitiously as he moved around his apartment. He’d warned her to be wary, not to forget that men like him could _overpower_ her. Was this some kind of test? She sighed, doubting she’d be able to sleep a wink, imagining every sound might be Eric creeping up behind her ready to strangle her nearly to death to prove a point. She sized Eric up in a way she’d never done before. He was probably double her weight and a full head taller than her. He seemed to be made of solid muscle; though he wasn’t excessively muscled like some Dauntless meatheads – just _solid_ , with broad, strong shoulders. He wasn’t much taller than Four, but he looked a lot bigger somehow. Tris’s body remembered how he’d held her wrists immovably against the wall with one long-fingered hand and swallowed hard. She flushed, and looked suspiciously at her glass. Smarter, faster, warier. Slowly, she set the glass down on the table and walked carefully over to the bookcase. _Ok, then_. She would use tonight to learn as much as she could about Eric Coulter. No matter how hard she trained, her wits might be her only advantage where he was concerned.

The shelf was arranged sparsely with various objects d’art, but she was somewhat surprised to find books here, too. Her eyes swept the spines. Non-fiction, mostly. History, essays… poems? Her finger brushed a gold-toned title.

“Were you born Dauntless?” she asked suddenly, surprising herself.

“No.” Again, no further explanation. Her mind cycled through the various factions, trying each of the stereotypes onto Eric’s broad shoulders for size.

“You were Erudite,” she said, not without surprise.

His eyes cut over to her, saw her fingertips brushing the spines of his books. He nodded once, curtly.

“Hm,” Tris said, considering that. He rarely spoke during training, so it was difficult to assess if he was smart, but she didn’t reckon a lot of Dauntless were recreational readers, much less of the kind of philosophical works Eric had on his shelf. Were they just for show? Her eye was drawn to one narrow binding: _The Rebel_ , Camus. Eric was Dauntless leadership, but was there a revolutionary streak in him? Tris watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was standing next to a guitar, and that was unexpected, too. Eric, a musician? Tris found herself suddenly rather… intrigued by Eric. It was an unsettling feeling. She preferred dismissing him as a ruthless, one-dimensional asshole; it was safer, somehow. Predictable. As it turned out, Eric was full of surprises, and she didn’t particularly want to fall down that rabbit hole.

“What will happen to them? Peter, Drew, and … Al,” she asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Nothing. They didn’t succeed in tossing you into the chasm, so they’ll likely say they were just trying to scare you.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tris began, and Eric cut her off.

“That’s life, sweetheart. Welcome to Dauntless.” He tossed back his third glass and looked her up and down shamelessly. Tris was beginning to warm to Eric’s completely unabashed manner; he hid nothing, but everything he revealed was a revelation – another layer. _Sweetheart._ It sounded strange coming from his lips, and she found herself momentarily wondering how it would be different if he meant it as a term of endearment. How might Eric speak to a beloved? Somehow she doubted it would involve “sweetheart.” Then he changed course yet again, jarring her out of her thoughts. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No,” Tris replied. _Let’s see how he likes it._ She strolled over to the nearby kitchen, eying a knife block sitting out on the counter.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her, eyebrows raised. “No?”

“No,” she confirmed, placing her hands on her hips deliberately and squaring her shoulders with his. “I don’t know why you’re keeping me here, but I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. We’re sleeping in the same bed.” His eyes flew wide as she slowly drew a long knife out of the block. “And I’m a light sleeper.”

His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a risk.”

 _A risk to whom?_ Her heart flew into her throat, but she tried to maintain an appearance of calm.

“That close, I’d have the advantage,” he clarified.

“Maybe.” She replied, hefting the knife. “Maybe not.”

He half-smiled for the first time. “I’ll risk it if you will.”

Tris tucked the blade against her wrist, holding onto the handle. She gestured toward the hallway. “Lead the way.”


	2. The Plan

Chapter 2: The Plan

(WARNING: Conversation about potentially triggering events; proceed with caution)

It was exceedingly odd, lying down beside Eric in his bed. Prior to this moment, Eric Coulter had been impossibly distant – as cold and inhuman as a marble statue. It had never occurred to her to think of him doing something as normal and… intimate… as crawling into bed at the end of a long day. His sheets were black silk, covering a mattress that was simultaneously firm and soft. Eric’s bed was really comfortable, Tris decided. _Shit_. This certainly threw a wrench in her plan to stay awake and wary until he fell asleep then sneak as stealthily as possible out of his apartment. As she slipped the knife under her pillow and curled up on her side facing away from Eric’s half of the bed, exhaustion and the two shots of whatever spicy alcohol he’d given her threatened to push her into sleep. Her fingers closed around the hilt of the kitchen knife and she fought the exhaustion.

It helped that Eric sat down heavy on the other side of the mattress; since he’d pinned her against the wall earlier, she seemed to have developed a extra sense: extreme sensitivity to whatever Eric’s body was doing. Tris tensed, trying to ignore him. He moved slightly before lying down, and an intoxicating smell that was a mix of cologne, liquor, and pure masculinity washed over her like a wave. Tris breathed in through her nose, annoyed at herself. _This is ridiculous. You are not attracted to Eric_. The Dauntless leader had as much as threatened to kill her if she didn’t watch her back. He’d practically thrown her friend into the chasm. What the hell was wrong with her? _But he saved you_ , some rebellious corner of her mind insisted. She pursed her lips in frustration, and focused on dragging her mind away from thoughts of Eric. Four’s face floated in front of her: his gentle eyes, staring out from beneath perpetually knitted brows. She smiled and felt awash in warmth, until Four’s face was suddenly replaced by Eric’s, the chocolate eyes lightening into cold blue-grey. A gaze full of mysterious intent, unflinching. Tris flushed again, and squirmed in discomfort.

Eric’s deep voice rumbled through her entire body. “If you don’t stop wriggling, your plan is never going to work.”

Tris’s heart skipped a beat. “What plan?”

“The plan where you pretend to be asleep until I pass out, then sneak out of the apartment when I’m sleeping.”

Tris sat up instantly and spun around to face him, furious. _Erudite, indeed. So they were mindreaders?_

“What the…? How did you…?”

She almost sprang off the bed when she saw that Eric was shirtless, on his back with his hands tucked behind his head. Biceps. Toned chest peppered with course blonde hair. Abs for days…without her permission her eyes followed the v-shape of his abdominal muscles to the low-slung waistband of his black boxer-briefs, then lower still. Eric saw her looking and quirked his pierced eyebrow, perfectly at ease. Tris was beyond flustered – both by his apparent clairvoyance and her traitorous body, which thrilled at the sight of him. She slithered away as fast as possible, forgetting the silk sheets. In a tumble of long legs and flailing arms, she fell directly off the bed and landed in a heap on the floor, dragging the blanket with her.

The rich sound of Eric’s genuine laughter rang through the room, and Tris was astounded. It was a good laugh, she decided; so good she almost had trouble reconciling it to Eric’s haughty demeanor. He appeared above her, holding out an arm.

“Get up, Stiff.” Grudgingly, she clasped her hand around his forearm and he did the same, pulling her off the floor with ease. She came up right alongside him, and he didn’t bother to step away; he was still bare-chested and heat seemed to radiate off him. He was someone else here, in his private space. The Eric statue had animated like Pygmalion’s sculpture, and Tris found herself almost liking him; she felt privileged somehow, party to some closely-guarded secret. She opened her mouth to speak, but Eric put one finger over her lips.

“You still have a lot to learn, Stiff.”

She frowned. “You set me up. You knew what I was planning.”

“You and a knife in bed with me, Stiff? That could only end in ways you wouldn’t want. But I was curious to know if you’d see it through.”

“Stop calling me Stiff,” Tris said hotly, turning away in a roiling mix of emotions. “’I’m Dauntless now.”

Eric turned serious. “Not yet. And you won’t be if you pull shit like that. What were you thinking?”

Tris opened and closed her mouth, unsure. Then she cast her eyes down, pink dusting her cheeks. “I suppose it seemed tough… the Dauntless thing to do.”

He scoffed. “Just remember how quickly a weapon like that can be turned against you. You don’t know how to knife-fight yet, Stiff, and I do. Plus I’ve got at least a hundred pounds on you. You’ve got to have a plan, be thinking ten steps ahead all the time. Like tonight - what would have happened if I hadn’t arrived when I did?”

Tris huffed, not looking at him. “I was figuring it out! Luckily Peter was too busy groping me to be in any hurry to throw me to my death.”

Eric’s hand was on her arm like a vise, pulling her around to face him. “He did what?” His face was a stormcloud. Angry, Tris yanked her arm out of his grasp. _That’ll leave a mark._

“Nothing,” she spat.

“He touched you? Where?” His hands were on both her arms now, just above the elbow, pulling her close so he could stare into her eyes - as if they’d tell him something she couldn’t.

“Eric!” Tris cried out, more in shock than protest.

“Where?” he shook her once, his voice raised.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Tris replied, hot tears scalding her eyes. _Great, crying in front of Eric would be the capstone humiliation._ She had pushed that part of the attack as far into the dark corners of her mind as possible, and Eric wanted to drag it out and have a look at it.

Eric’s scowl was thunderous, and his eyes were sweeping over her body for evidence. He noticed a few burst blood vessels on the skin of her neck where Peter’s teeth had nipped her after he… she shuddered, and Eric felt it as he held her.

“Bastard,” he growled. “He can be punished for that, if you’re willing to talk. I’ll be your witness.”

Tris’s eyes flew wide, suddenly mortified. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he said, “It was dark. But I’ll corroborate anything you say.”

Tris blinked once in astonishment, and twin tears escaped and slid down her cheeks. She expected Eric to turn away, get uncomfortable – men often did when emotions came into play. Instead he stepped closer and gently wrapped her in his arms.

_What the actual fuck?_

She had the sudden urge to laugh; Christina would _never_ believe her if she told. _“And then he held me, with his hand gently running up and down my back.”_ Haha, that’s a riot. Instead of laughing, Tris sank against the reassuring solidity of Eric’s broad chest, her cheek against the flat muscle of his pectorals. His skin was hot and silken over hard muscle, and he smelled like cedar, clean and sharp. Everything he did was _right_ \- even if it surprised the shit out of her initially - because he was so certain. She’d felt so unsure, so adrift, these past few weeks that Eric’s certainty felt like a harbor, so Tris just let him hold her as the storm passed.

After a few moments that felt like an eternity in which she became increasingly and uncomfortably aware of every ridge of muscle on Eric’s chest and how close he was to being naked, Tris took a shaky breath and pulled away.

“I’m fine,” she said into the silence, wiping her eyes. “I just want to forget about it, okay?”

He looked at her sternly, but nodded. “It’s your call.”

He let her have the reins, and it was exactly what she needed. No lectures or demands or chastisement. Acceptance and trust.

“Training’s on hold for tonight, so no more theatrics,” Eric warned. “Just get some sleep.”

The rush of gratitude that suffused her was euphoric. Tris hadn’t dared let down her guard since the choosing ceremony, but something about Eric – the person she least expected to trust – brought down her walls. She nodded, and he led her back into the bedroom. Suddenly, she was practically asleep on her feet, but managed to slide herself into bed across the impossibly smooth sheets. Tris understood why Eric had been shirtless.

“God, this bed…” she murmured into the pillow, breathing in the spicy, delicious scent that permeated everything and which she would always associate with Eric from now on. “How do you ever leave this bed?” Nothing so luxurious would have ever been allowed in Abnegation. Suddenly her clothing felt suffocating, and all she wanted to do was strip naked and roll around.

“You get used to it,” Eric replied, amusement evident in his tone. He retrieved the knife from under her pillow.

“Mmmmm,” she acknowledged, face buried in softness.

“Get some sleep, Stiff,” he advised. “I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.” He was gone before she could protest, and though the Abnegation in her felt guilty for stealing his bed, she was too tired to object. She had just enough energy to slip off her pants and tank top – leaving a matching black sports bra and underwear, courtesy of one of Christina’s shopping trips – and discreetly cover herself up to the neck before sleep claimed her.


	3. An Ally

Chapter 3: An Ally

(WARNING: Discussion of potentially triggering events; proceed with caution)

It was pitch dark and there were hands around her throat. Hands in her hair, over her mouth, holding her arms back. Hands snaking under her shirt, squeezing and twisting painfully. Hands between her tightly closed thighs, inching upward. Hands where she didn’t want them to be.

“Stop!” she cried out. “Leave me alone!” Grasping, scraping, squeezing, violating.

“Get off me! No! I said no!”

“Tris!”

Louder, more insistent. “Tris!”

Disoriented, Tris surged upward, gasping. It was very dark. Where was she? Strong arms held her biceps, and she fought hard against them, panic edging in.

“Let go!” Her voice sounded girlish and terrified.

Instantly, the hands obeyed, and her eyes adjusted enough to see a silhouetted form standing beside the bed with his hands raised, palms out.

“It’s Eric, Tris. I had to wake you up; you were shouting in your sleep. You’re safe.”

She went from panicked to mortified in record time.

“Shit… Eric, I’m sorry, I…”

“Stop apologizing.” His voice was iron. “You don’t have any reason to apologize.” He paused, then added, “Though I might, if these walls aren’t soundproof. Lauren might not be thinking very kindly of me right now unless she’s a really deep sleeper.”

“Ugh,” Tris moaned, blushing furiously in the dark. She covered her face with her hands.

“It’s still a few hours until morning,” Eric said. “Try to get a little more sleep.”

He turned to leave.

“Wait!” Tris called out, surprising herself. She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted, but Eric leaving wasn’t it. He paused in the doorway, and she could see his body outlined against the faint light out in the hall. If she hadn’t been half asleep she probably would have thought twice before speaking.

“Will you stay? I… I don’t want to be alone.” He didn’t answer, and she mumbled self-consciously, “I mean, you can just lie next to me. If you want. I mean, if you don’t mind.” _Christ. Awkward._

He hesitated, and she thought for a minute he’d surely reply, “That’s not appropriate, Initiate. Now go to sleep.” Instead, he turned back toward the room and stalked over to the bed. He pulled back the covers and stretched out beside her. No dissembling; that was Eric. It was only when she laid back on the bed alongside him that Tris remembered she’d taken off most of her clothes. Her heart started hammering, but not out of fear.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and tried not to let any part of her body touch him.

“Mmhm,” he replied. “Now get some sleep.”

Tris closed her eyes, thinking it would probably be impossible to fall asleep again now. But then - oblivion.

*     *     *

Tris woke gradually, awash in warmth and surrounded by softness. She was on her side, curled against a veritable furnace of pleasant, spicy-smelling… Tris froze. Her eyes blinked open, and her eyes followed a line of black tattoos up to the strong curve of a very masculine jawline. Her head was pillowed on the juncture of arm and chest, and a heavy arm was draped around her shoulders. _Oh dear god._

Eric was still asleep, his chest rising and falling with his breath. His bare chest, where her hand currently lay. She noticed her leg was entwined with his, and bit her lower lip in frustration. How to extricate herself without waking him? He would probably be furious with her. Tris moved her hand slightly and Eric stirred, making a deep, rumbling sound in his chest and pulling her closer to him with the arm around her shoulders. _Well, that backfired._ Tris was still for a moment, evaluating her options. Should she say his name quietly? Just sit up? Yawn loudly? Instead, she found herself tracing small, infinitely light circles on the skin of his chest, coarse blonde hair tickling. Her eyes drank in the details: the beginning of a beard, the black ink of his tattoos, the dips and ridges of muscle meeting muscle in all the right places. It was undeniable: Eric was beautifully made. Almost without her permission, her hand lifted and her fingertips brushed his jaw.

“See something you like, Stiff?” he asked suddenly, and she practically jumped out of her skin. Her hand flew back and her leg retreated from his, but he hadn’t released her from his one-armed embrace.

“Sorry!” she instinctually replied. “I…”

“Can’t shake that Abnegation, can you? Is this a sorry state to wake up in?”

“No.”

“Then stop apologizing. I’m not sorry, either.”

But he stretched and pulled his arm away from her, and she almost wished it back. She tucked one elbow under her and lifted up on it, loathe to leave her comfortable spot next to his chest but determined not to show it. Eric sat up and turned his back to her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I hope I didn’t wake you up again,” she said tentatively, remembering her outburst and the dream that had precipitated it.

He shook his head. “You didn’t.”

“Good,” Tris said brightly. “I should take a shower and get ready for training.” Eric twisted around to face her, his eyes – somehow softer; everything about him seemed less sharp here in his bed, in his bedroom, after sleeping beside him – searching her face. “Do you remember what you were saying last night, when I woke you up?”

Tris cast her own eyes down, long, unruly lashes brushing her cheeks. “No.”

“You said ‘get off me’ and ‘no, I said, no’,” he told her carefully.

“I was dreaming about what happened at the chasm.”

“Tris,” Eric began, his voice level but filled with tightly reined emotion. “You need to tell me if I should let you take a shower, or if I should take you to the infirmary.”

“What?” she asked, genuinely confused at first.

“You said Peter touched you. Is that all he did?” He was calm, but firm.

Tris realized what he was asking and blushed furiously. “Oh… yes. I mean, no, but… not that. He didn’t…”

Eric’s eyes closed, and he exhaled long and slow. He turned around fully to face her on the bed. “Well, that’s a relief. I thought I might have to arrange an accident for a certain initiate today.”

Tris barked a laugh, but it died on her lips too quickly. Eric caught her chin in his fingers and drew her face up so he could meet her eyes.

“’Yes, I mean, no’?” He repeated her words back to her, questioningly. Part of her wanted him to know, part of her had no idea how to say it. She squirmed a little, desperately uncomfortable.

“Take your time,” Eric said, his voice low and nonthreatening.

“It was just his hand. I mean, his finger. Fingers,” She corrected. Her face burned and she looked down again, unable to meet his eyes.

Eric dropped her chin and clenched his fists together on the tops of his thighs. “His fingers? You mean he put his fingers inside you?”

Tris nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

“Fucking son of a bitch,” Eric said through his teeth. “We can get him kicked out of initiation for that. He’d be factionless. I can call up a tribunal…” he began, moving to stand up.

Tris reached out and grabbed his forearm.

“No,” she said firmly. “There’s no proof.”

“I’d testify for you,” he said vehemently.

“You didn’t see it. No one did, except maybe Drew and Al, and they’re not talking. He wasn’t… rough enough to leave evidence.” She saw Eric’s jaw bunch, and pushed forward, ignoring it. “I just want to beat him. That is the best revenge.”

“It’s your choice,” he told her warily.

“That’s what I want,” she said, decisively.

Eric regarded her in silence for a moment, his eyes narrowed. “So be it. I’ll help you train.”

Tris’s eyes lit up for a moment. Eric, the youngest Dauntless leader, would train her? She wouldn’t be sorry to spend a little more time with him, either, after the surprises of last night and this morning. “Deal,” she said, extending a hand. Eric shook it firmly, lips curled in a slight, one-sided smile. Tris darted up… and realized she was only in her underwear. She drew in a sharp breath and her eyes flew wide, but Eric stood up across the bed from her and gestured up and down his bare chest.

“We’re even,” he told her, and then reached over to a drawer beside his bed and pulled out a plush towel, which he threw to her. “Shower quickly; you don’t want to be late.”

Tris carried the towel into a nondescript door off the hallway leading to the bedroom and found herself in what could only be described as the nicest bathroom she’d ever seen. The huge shower was lined in stone and enclosed in panels of glass, and when she turned on the water, it came out in a hissing waterfall, instantly hot. She lingered longer than she should, lathering herself repeatedly with a bar of clear, amber-colored soap that smelled deliciously like Eric, scrubbing off the residue of fear, embarrassment, uncertainty, anger, and disgust from the last 24 hours. Goodbye all evidence of Peter, Drew, and – her heart skipped a beat – Al. When she stepped out of the shower into a room filled with clouds of steam, she felt new-made: capable, determined, focused. Tris wiped down the floor-length mirror alongside the shower and stared for a moment at her naked body, which she’d never had the opportunity to see in one glance. She could see the definition of muscle for the first time on her arms and legs; her spine was straight and supple, her shoulders straight, her core tight. Her eyes stared back at her, luxuriously lashed, but as unflinching as Eric’s. She felt strong, and it was intoxicatingly empowering. She still had a long way to go… but she wasn’t defenseless. Even though her aptitude test had given her a choice, she knew she had made the right one. Tris knew in that moment that she was Dauntless, and it was about time to make sure everyone else knew it, too.


	4. Up Is Down

Chapter 4: Up is Down

“Where were you last night?” Christina, ever direct. Tris had had some time in between jogging back to the dormitory to swap out her clothes (after sneaking as surreptitiously as possible out of Eric’s apartment) and meeting up with the initiate group to think of an answer. Best to stick to the truth as much as possible, Eric had advised her.

“I had a little run-in with Peter, Drew… and Al.”

Christina nodded sagely. “I figured as much. Peter’s got some fresh bruises. Drew’s still in the infirmary; I went this morning to see if you were, too. But Al? Fucking hell. You sure did a number on them. Al’s … alive, right?”

Tris hesitated; she wasn’t sure if she should take credit for that particular dirty work. Her story had to match the guys’ – were they talking?

Eric’s words rang in her ear. “No idea. Ask Eric.”

Christina’s face wrinkled up in disgust. “Eric? Ugh. What does he have to do with it?”

“Three against one? I’m good, Christina, but not that good. I wasn’t first in stage one, remember?”

Candor never bother to hide their feelings, and Christina was no exception: pure, unadulterated shock broadcast from her friend’s expression. “Eric?! _He_ stopped them?” She paused for a moment, considering. “I guess I can’t totally hate his guts, then.” She sounded almost disappointed. It took Christina a moment to recover, but then she piped up in confusion, “So where did you sleep?”

The fortuitous arrival of Four spared her from having to answer. His face was drawn; he looked angry, but she could only guess as to why. She wondered if it had anything to do with her. Did he know she’d spent the night with Eric? Did he care?

“Tris, room one.”

She stood and walked past Four into the open door behind him; he didn’t look up.

Another fear simulation, no doubt, but this time Tris worried that her fears might reflect what had happened the night before. Not something she particularly wanted Four or anyone else in Dauntless to know. As soon as she saw who was waiting in the room for her, she relaxed. Eric glanced up from the vials and syringes on the tray in front of him and acknowledged her arrival.

“Haven’t done this in a while,” he told her. “Give me a minute.”

Suddenly, Tris froze.

“Are you monitoring my simulation?” she asked, suffused in cold sweat. Eric heard the change in her voice.

“Yes, Initiate,” he drawled, reminding her of his place and hers. “Is that a problem?”

 _Yes, Eric, it’s a fucking problem. Because either I work my Divergent magic to keep my standing and the jig is up, or I play along with the simulation and fall in the rankings._ Suddenly, the whispered conversation she’d heard between Eric and the faceless woman before Peter and the others had grabbed her came flooding back. Eric was hunting Divergents, and he was answering to someone powerful. The choice was clear. Risking being factionless was better than what would surely be death if Eric discovered her. Suddenly, the night that had passed between them was meaningless, and he was her enemy again. When she untangled herself from the Gordian knot of her thoughts, Eric was staring at her suspiciously, skin white against bold black tattoos. He looked every bit the imposing Dauntless leader she remembered from the first day of initiation, and suddenly she longed for Four.

“Is that a problem?” he repeated.

“No,” she choked out. “I don’t think so.”

His eyes narrowed, but he gestured to the chair. “Let’s proceed then.”

Tris approached the chair and sat down shakily. Could she come up with some excuse? Suddenly get sick? Pass out? She felt the deep ache of a needle enter her neck and the spreading pain that followed. Too late.

 

*          *          *

Tris blinked, emerging from the simulation. Eric was standing next to her, his eyes bright and intense.

“Three minutes,” he said. “That’s very unusual.”

 _Shit._ She wasn’t sure how that had happened; she was consciously trying not to circumvent the simulation. Her heart fluttered in her chest, but she tried to keep her face neutral.

“Yeah,” Tris replied, feigning calm. “I guess I’m a natural.”

“No, actually,” Eric mused, his voice light. “You’re Divergent.” He let that sit in the silence for a moment while Tris inwardly panicked. “But I’m sure you knew that already.”

Tris forced herself to meet his eyes, her whole body tense. _If I punch him in the throat, maybe that will give me enough time… Or would going for the eyes be better?_ “What are you going to do?”

“What I always do,” he said evenly, and Tris drew a breath. “Hide you.”

Eric smiled, and it was so warm and genuine that his face transformed completely; it was like looking at another person. Tris’s heart dropped in her chest, and she felt suddenly dizzy. She blinked and the smile was gone, leaving her wondering if she had hallucinated the last minute entirely.

“What? But that woman you were talking to…”

Eric’s scowl was thunderous. “What woman? When?”

Tris sighed. “Last night, before Peter grabbed me. I overheard you talking to a woman about hunting Divergents.”

Eric folded his arms across his chest. “It’s a wonder you’re not dead already. You’ve got an extraordinary talent for finding trouble, little Stiff.”

Tris shrugged.

“Fine,” Eric began, his voice low. “I know your secret, so here’s mine. That was Jeanine. From Erudite. She wants me to identify and turn over all Divergents, but to what end I don’t yet know.”

Tris’s eyes flew wide. “And you’re helping her?” Hard to keep the disgust from her voice.

Eric’s face was impassive. “No. But she thinks I am, and if we want to stay alive, we’d best keep it that way.”

Tris was floored. Her entire reality had been up-ended. Eric was not at all who she’d thought, and the realization was both terrifying and irresistible.

“Are you…?” she began, and Eric cut her off.

“No, I’m not Divergent. Not technically.”

What was that supposed to mean? “Not _technically_?”

He looked impatient. “I strongly favor one faction.”

Tris lifted her back off the reclining chair and sat upright on the seat, staring at him intently. “That doesn’t help, Eric. So you’re ninety percent Dauntless, or something like that?”

Eric shook his head no – just once, a fast, cutting movement. “Not Dauntless. Erudite.”

“Erudite?” _Holy shit._ Suddenly Tris felt self-conscious. _How smart was Eric, exactly?_ She had to ask the obvious question. “So why the hell are you in Dauntless?”

Eric walked away from her, back to the computer to make some adjustments to her simulation record. He talked over his shoulder. “Because I chose to be. It’s still a _Choosing_ Ceremony.”

She was aghast. “But no one chooses a different faction than the one they get on their Aptitude Test!”

Eric gave her a withering look. “What exactly is the Aptitude Test, Tris?”

She paused, thinking. “A simulation?”

He nodded, not looking up from the screen his fingers were practically dancing across. “A series of them, yes. Fairly transparent scenarios. Easily manipulated if you can discern the intent of each.”

“You outsmarted the Aptitude Test?!” Tris hissed, trying her best not to shout.

“In a manner of speaking.”

She practically catapulted herself out of the chair and flew to his side. “What was your result?”

“It’s probably not valid,” he began, surely about to launch into an explanation of the limitations of the test when the subject is attempting to manipulate the scenarios. Tris grabbed his forearm. “ _What was your result_?” she repeated, insistent.

“Erudite. And a little bit of Dauntless, Candor, Amity, and Abnegation.”

Tris reeled. All five? “You _are_ Divergent.” _And you’re a Stiff too._ She almost laughed, picturing Eric dressed in the drab garb of an Abnegation leader. Somehow her mind couldn’t erase his tattoos or piercings.

“No. Divergence is a fairly even split between multiple factions. I strongly favor Erudite.”

“Does Jeanine know all this?” Tris demanded.

“She knows I’m Erudite, but I chose Dauntless.” He finished whatever he was doing to her records and their eyes met. “The test simulation can handle reporting on multiple competing factions of equal strength. In my case, the uneven split crashed the system. I only found out the result after I hacked it later. I was able to manually enter Erudite, but after the Choosing Ceremony, my defection caught Jeanine’s attention.”

 _Hacked the system_? Huh? Tris was trying to make sense of everything Eric was saying, but there were so many questions. “You were second-ranked in your class. How did you ace Dauntless initiation, if you’re Erudite?”

“Bravery is nothing more than mastery of fear. It’s a state of mind. Building physical strength and fighting ability starts with mental discipline.” He frowned, attention directed inward. “Given that, the probability of success seemed high enough to risk.”

“Logical,” Tris drawled, half-mockingly. He certainly sounded Erudite enough. But switching factions in defiance of an Aptitude Test result was very rare; most of the defectors showed aptitude for a different faction besides their birth faction, and that prompted the switch. _Going Dauntless without clear Dauntless aptitude was particularly insane, possibly muddled results notwithstanding._ “You’re more Dauntless than you say you are,” she asserted.

Eric half-smiled. “You might be right.”

“But Eric…” Tris began, his name sweeter on her tongue than she ever thought possible. “Why Dauntless?”

“’We believe in ordinary acts of bravery… in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another.’” He recited the Dauntless manifesto. “The Dauntless believe in _action_. Where else can I do the most good?” He said it with such heartfelt assurance that it seemed obvious, one of those ideas that – when given voice – seem to erase all alternatives.

“And it’s a lucky thing I’m here.” His voice was full of amusement, but he unexpectedly reached out to brush his fingertips against her cheek. “Because I’ve got to save your ass.”

And for a fleeting moment, Tris was too undone by his touch to be affronted.


	5. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tris starts her training with Eric -- and it is not at all what she expects.

“So, Eric’s being a particularly enormous prick to you lately,” Christina huffed, and Tris bit back the smile that tried to creep across her face. She schooled her expression into a severe frown.

“Yeah. You’d think I kicked his favorite spaniel or something.”

Christina scoffed. “Not even a dog could take a liking to that guy.”

 _If you only knew._ It felt like betrayal, not letting Christina in on her secret about Eric, but it was also kind of exciting, and not a small bit hilarious when Christina really let loose her Candor tongue on him. It always thrilled Tris a little to realize how very, very good Eric was at playing bad.

“Initiate,” Eric’s voiced made the air around Tris vibrate. Christina rolled her eyes theatrically as Eric approached them from behind her back. “A word. In private.” Christina raised her eyebrows and Tris inclined her head slightly, as if to say in reply _here we go again._ As she brushed past her friend, Tris heard Christina mutter, “I have a few choice words for him…” Tris reached out and squeezed Christina’s hand, then glanced up and met Eric’s gaze. Just a twinkle betrayed him, then his face was expressionless, his eyes cold again. He turned on his heel and marched out of the room. Tris followed a step behind him, unconsciously matching her stride to his heavy bootfalls. He turned into his office and she closed the door behind them.

“How’s the training with Four going?” he asked briskly.

“Fine. I think I’ll be able to get through the last stage without anyone suspecting.”

“Four knows his stuff. He almost had me fooled once.”

“Hm,” was Tris’s only answer. Eric studied her face openly, clearly expecting her to elaborate. Finally, she added, “If you want to know something about Four, Eric, just ask me.”

He frowned. “He seems interested in you.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Are you interested in him?” His tone was carefully neutral.

“If you’re not comfortable with me training with Four, why did you tell me to train with Four?” Tris demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He’s drawn to you. And he knows about you. I didn’t want him to suspect anything if you suddenly refused to associate with him. Things should continue as they started.”

Tris smiled one-sidedly. “Is that why you’ve doubled-down the asshole act where I’m concerned? To continue as we started?” She took a step toward him. “Or do you just like to torment me?”

“I’m the resident asshole,” he shrugged. “It’s safer that way. Everyone steers clear, tries not to cross me.”

“You never answered my question,” Tris insisted, one step closer.

“You never answered mine.” Eric didn’t flinch, as always.

The tension between them was electric; it had been that way a lot lately, though Tris was never quite sure what made her so breathless around him. When she’d first come to Dauntless, Four had made her feel that way, but he’d become flat somehow -- two-dimensional compared to Eric’s vast complexity. He left her guessing about his intentions; in private he was warm but still somehow aloof; in public… well, only Peter and Drew fared worse. Tris wanted to be bold: walk straight up to him and kiss him, but just when she felt like she’d worked up the courage, she deflated. Eric was nothing if not decisive; if he hadn’t acted on his feelings for her, perhaps he didn’t have any? Not in the same way she had for him? Maybe he felt protective of her, like a little sister. The thought made her heart echo in her chest like it was an empty chamber.

Tris stopped her advance and flopped into a chair across from the large desk in the room. “I’m interested in his history. He’s Marcus Eaton’s son. He’s from home.” She said it with resignation. “He trains me in his fearscape, so I guess I’m getting to know him fairly well.”

Eric was watching her carefully, in the intense, inscrutable way he had that made her feel extremely vulnerable, almost naked. She had no idea what he made of her comments, and he didn’t seem inclined to tell her.

“You’ll be training with me tonight,” he said in answer. “Make your excuses to Four.” Tris’s head spun. What could she possibly tell him? Eric was already out the door. She hurried out after him, watching his back as he vanished into the crowd in the Pit. What could his fears be? _I guess I’ll find out_.

 *      *      *

Tris met Eric in the empty training room where they’d done their first stage of initiation; he wasn’t the kind of person you casually met up with in the bar in the Pit. All eyes are on the Dauntless leaders in public spaces. It was the first time they’d been truly alone together since the night she’d spent in his apartment a week ago, but the warmth and intimacy was gone. Eric acknowledged her with a silent head nod and started walking out of the training room. Toward a sim room, she assumed, and followed wordlessly. But he kept going – straight out of the Dauntless compound. Tris bit back her questions; she knew he wouldn’t answer. He walked silently but confidently through the occupied part of the city, and then into the unoccupied ruins. Tris walked beside him, her attention shifting from Eric to the city around her. She’d never dared go to the places he was leading her… the only people who went this far were the factionless. Suddenly, Eric turned into a ruined storefront, stepping over the remains of a glass door.

“Careful.” He gestured to some broken glass, and his voice was startling, after so long a silence, in this empty, abandoned place. Eric led to the back of the store, past shelves with a few lonely tin cans scattered down their length, and opened a door. Stairs led down into perfect darkness, and Tris recoiled, her hands unfeelingly gripping Eric’s arm.

“What is this place?” she breathed, and Eric’s warm palm rested momentarily on the back of her hand, reassuringly.

“Trust me,” he said, and headed down the stairs into the darkness. Tris took a deep breath and followed.

To her infinite relief, lights blinked on as they descended – a much longer distance than she had anticipated, back and forth on landings as they crept into the bowels of the city. They reached the bottom of the staircase and Eric tapped a long code into a keypad beside a nondescript door. Green light flashed in the small space, and with a whooshing sound the door slid open.

Eric took her hand and drew her through the opening into a cavernous room lit with bare bulbs along tiered, railed hallways stretching up at least seven stories. The effect was that of perpetual twilight, but it was not an unpleasant scene – rather like a night market in some ancient, exotic city. There were people here, milling about between storefronts, talking, laughing, and then – as the newcomers’ presence was noted – hurrying toward them.

“Eric!” called a woman carrying a woven market basket laden with fresh vegetables and fruit. She seemed genuinely happy to see him; her eyes crinkled with warmth and her one arm outstretched to hug him in greeting. Her long hair was white and her face – while still handsome – was heavily lined. Tris guessed she was in her late 60s. Eric allowed her to pull him close with her free arm around his back, though she was only tall enough to reach his chest. Two other older men accompanied her and greeted Eric with smiles.

“Have you brought us a new one?” the woman asked playfully, eyeing Tris with the unabashed, appraising gaze of an elderly matchmaker.

“This is Tris,” Eric answered quietly. “She’s Divergent, too.”

Tris gasped, staring hard at Eric as he readily confessed her deepest secret to these strangers. _Too?_ The woman and her two companions turned their silver eyes on her face, and nodded eagerly.

“You are welcome here,” she said, her papery hand resting on Tris’s, which had found its way into the crook of Eric’s arm.

“Thank you,” Tris said, utterly confused.

“Allow me to show her around, Mavis,” Eric gently suggested. “And then perhaps we can join you later. I’m sure she’s itching for an explanation about now.”

The old woman slapped the top of Eric’s hand. “You naughty devil. You didn’t tell her?” She winked at both of them, and then turned away, towing her companions along with her.

“Tell me what, _you naughty devil_?” Tris asked playfully, turning to face Eric. He raised his pierced brow and smiled one-sidedly.

“Welcome to my city,” he said, gesturing toward the space with his free arm. “This is where the factionless live. Well, the factionless and the Divergents I’ve managed to spirit away under Jeanine’s nose.”

Tris was incredulous. “Your city?”

Eric shrugged, looking around. “Well, not in any official sense. But it is the place that feels most like home.” He returned a few friendly waves. “And I have a minor leadership role.”

“But I thought the factionless…” Tris’s eyes darted everywhere, taking in as many details as she possibly could, her mind working furiously to piece everything from her shattered reality back together. This was a happy place, a thriving place.

“Were destitute? Starving? Hopeless? Crazy?” Eric supplied. He nodded, his lips a thin line. “It’s an illusion that is necessary to maintain.” He pointed, and Tris looked; a group of raggedy, dirt-smudged people walked through the center of the space, talking and laughing quietly. “A patrol back from duty. As long as Jeanine thinks the factionless are pathetic and scattered, they’re safe.”

She couldn’t quite help herself; her mind instantly flew to one thing. “But… Peter. You said he’d be factionless if we told…”

Eric’s face went dark. “’Factionless’ is the monster in the closet; the universal threat. Of course I said that when it’s the worst fate you knew of. We don’t welcome all the factionless, Tris. Peter would never have known about this place.” He looked down at her. “Those who are truly factionless don’t make it very long. And sometimes,” he said, his voice a razor edge, “we help them along.”

Tris nodded, berating herself a little for the fact that her first thought was selfish. “Why? _How?_ ” she asked next, impossibly big questions that Eric was nonetheless undaunted by.

He began to walk, towing her along since her arm was still cradled in the crook of his elbow, her palm resting on the top of his forearm.

“At first it was just… humane. The factionless were as Jeanine wanted them to be – cast aside, anchorless, dying in droves. Mavis had gathered them together as best she could, provided for them. But they didn’t have a safe place, a place they could build up, make better. They moved from ruin to ruin, dodging the criminal element among the factionless, dodging the Dauntless patrols, scrounging for food from Abnegation. The constant lack – it divided them, pit them against each other. Then I found this place.”

“But how did you find it? What _is_ this place?” Tris demanded, almost desperately. Every answer led to another hundred questions.

“I used to wander as a kid,” he said, laughing deep in his chest at what was surely the absurdity of that explanation. “It used to drive my mother crazy; I’d be gone all day and she could never get me to tell her where. No one else in Erudite seemed to know.” He steered her to a little café with tables set out along the main thoroughfare; pulled out a chair for her. She sat obediently, her eyes never leaving his face. He sat across from her, but close enough to touch.

“Where did you go?”

“Out,” he answered, his eyes distant, remembering. “Into the city, beyond each faction’s compound. Exploring.”

“When did this start?”

“When I was around ten, I think,” Eric replied casually.

“TEN? As in, ten years old?” Tris demanded, knuckles white on the arms of her chair. At ten, she’d barely been bold enough to leave the familiar paths between her classroom and her parents’ house. She set her teeth. “You’re Dauntless through and through, you liar.”

He laughed, white teeth flashing. “It wasn’t bravery. It was probably curiosity, more than anything. And not a small measure of stupidity. I could have died a hundred times over. Just lucky I guess. What faction does that make me now?” He met her eyes, mirth mixed with a little sadness.

Tris shook her head, realizing how pointless it was to try to classify Eric. In fact, she was rapidly beginning to mentally dismantle the entire faction system; in the face of Eric’s complexity, it seemed impossibly simple.

“So you found this place.”

Steaming cups of coffee appeared in front of them; Eric thanked a young woman who had brought them out, and Tris found herself narrowing her eyes at the woman’s back as she retreated into the café.

“Yes. About five years in. By then I’d met Mavis; turns out she had been following me for a few years. She’s sneakier than I am; I’d never noticed her.” Tris tried to imagine the small, wiry white-haired woman stalking a fifteen-year-old boy through the ruins of Chicago. “It must have been intended as some kind of disaster shelter; the door was secured, and it took me about eight trips down here before I figured out how to get it open. Pretty much as soon as I did, Mavis made herself known. I helped her move everyone down here, fix the place up. Nine years makes a big difference.”

Between the ages of 15 and 24 Eric had been building an underground city to house and shelter the factionless. It made Tris blush to imagine how ridiculous and selfish her own youth had been by comparison. Hurriedly, she pushed aside the shame. She was still burning with questions.

“Why not just move down here, too? Why play along?”

Eric nodded, acknowledging the validity of the question. “Mavis, mostly. She said it would be better to know what’s happening with the factions. She can’t reinsert herself into the system, and we can’t afford to be ignorant of it. She asked me to keep an eye out. When Jeanine rose to power, I made sure to get an Erudite result, then defect. I knew it would get Jeanine’s attention. Keep your friends close,” he said.

“And your enemies closer,” Tris finished knowingly. “But how did you know she was an enemy?”

“Mavis again,” he said, his small smile warm and affectionate.

Tris frowned. “Who exactly is Mavis?”

“She’s probably the smartest, kindest, most honest, most selfless, and bravest person I know. She’s also Jeanine’s mother.”

Slowly, Tris leaned back in her chair, overwhelmed. “There’s a story there you’re going to have to tell me sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll leave that to Mavis.”

Tris stared at the steam coming off her untouched coffee. “Jeanine’s mother. Holy shit.” She stared out at the underground city, bustling with people – people unencumbered by the faction system, who were free to choose, to explore, to develop every part of themselves, if they so desired. Tris felt drunk with the freedom, the possibility. It seemed impossible that Jeanine’s mother could somehow be partially responsible for this.

Eric leaned forward, recapturing Tris’s attention. “She’s planning something, Tris. Jeanine. Something big. I don’t know what, yet, but I mean to find out. She’s afraid of the Divergents, and there’s only one thing Jeanine is afraid of: things she can’t control.”

“Well, that explains why she wants us,” Tris said offhandedly, and Eric narrowed his eyes, questioning silently. It felt good to have the upper hand for once.

“She wants to figure us out. If I could hazard a guess, I’d say she’s working on a serum to either suppress Divergence or allow mind control.”

Eric smiled again, his blue-grey eyes twinkling with the reflected light of the bare bulbs like stars dotting the sky of his city. “Welcome to the resistance.”

Tris’s eyes slid over to his, and she returned his smile, and with it his purpose.

“Thanks.”


	6. A Tiny Room

Eric had an apartment here, in his subterranean utopia. It was small and windowless, without the luxurious shower or the black silk sheets, but somehow better. Entering it was like walking into another world where none of the rules or expectations that had constrained Tris like a tightly laced corset all of her life applied. It was the equivalent of taking a full breath for the first time. She felt viscerally _alive,_ and all of her senses were in laser focus.

Joining Dauntless had been a personal awakening; Tris had been able to tap into parts of herself that she’d always suppressed. But meeting Eric, discovering who he was under the cold, angry façade and joining his cause, took her outside herself in a dizzying way. She saw for the first time how she could develop and celebrate _all_ of her talents equally, but put them to use for the common good - for a cause that needed all she could give. Here, the different parts of her – instead of jarring with disharmony – sang together, thrumming through her with a cacophony of joy that threatened to shake her to pieces with its power.

As soon as they were alone, Tris spun to face Eric, a flood of words on her lips.

“How can I help? What’s the next step? A few hours ago, all I wanted was to pass Dauntless initiation, and now that seems – almost pointless. There are bigger things in the world. Bigger, and better, and grander things than I ever imagined.” She reached for him, unsure what to do with her hands, only knowing she needed to touch him, remind herself that he was here, that this was real. “Eric,” Tris sighed, eyes wide and bright. “I feel like I’ve been living my whole life in a tiny room, and someone has finally opened the door.”

He smiled, the genuine, elusive Eric smile that transformed his face entirely. Then he grinned – a smile of a different character - and looked at her hard, pointedly glancing around them… and the irony of the fact that they were currently in a tiny room drove them both into a fit of hysterical laughter. Tris fell against Eric’s chest, and his arms found their way around her, and they shook with mirth and release. As the laughter slowed, their faces descended toward each other.

Tris kissed him then, not caring if it was the right thing to do. He pulled her closer, one hand tangled in the hair at the back of her neck and the other resting lightly on her hip. She broke the kiss first, shifting back to study his face. Did he want this as much as she did? In answer, he lifted her up and laid her down on the woven rug beneath them, stretching out atop her as his lips sought hers again. Tris reached up and dragged him closer, her hands tangled in the soft black fabric of his shirt. The familiar, intoxicating scent that seemed to emanate from him suffused her, and she breathed it in, savoring. Her fingers crept beneath the hem of his shirt, and his skin was hot to the touch. Eric rocked back onto his knees and reached behind his head with one hand, pulling the shirt off with one fluid motion. Unthinkingly, Tris’s hands darted out and she and ran her palms down his bare chest, reaching around his waist as he ducked his head and slammed into her lips with an abandon that made her whole body flush with excitement. He held himself off her enough not to crush her with his weight, but his size and his strength were overwhelming, and Tris’s heart hammered pleasantly in her chest. He was braced on one elbow, and his free hand roamed all over her, making her want to arch into his touch – all of the atoms of her body gathered under his hand like it was a magnet and followed as it slid over her skin.

Then his lips were on her neck, his hot breath raising goosebumps, and his teeth closed lightly over her earlobe. The stubble that was beginning to creep over his face brushed roughly against her jaw and the tender skin of her neck, and Tris made a sound between a sigh and a moan. Eric had her tank top off in a few quick movements, and his lips skated down between her breasts and settled on the hollow of her stomach. Featherlight kisses from her bellybutton up to her ribcage as his deft fingers unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them off her hips. He slid them down her legs and tossed them aside, falling atop her again and stealing her breath with an open-mouthed kiss. Tris had never kissed anyone before, much less like this, but Eric’s confidence was the best teacher. He knew just what to do, and she followed his lead with a thrill of discovery. He rested his hip beside her and his right hand ran down the length of her body from chin to the waistband of her thin cotton underwear. His lips on hers, he slid his fingers between the fabric and her skin. Tris moved her legs apart slightly as Eric’s hand slid between her thighs, gliding into her ready wetness.

Suddenly she was fighting for breath; she felt the rough canvas of a bag brushing against her face, and she heard Peter’s mocking laugh loud in her ear, whispering, “Let’s see what you’ve got for us, little Stiff.” Tris gasped and broke away from Eric’s kiss, thrashing away on her elbows as Eric pulled back, his eyes wide.

Tris wrapped her arms around her waist, shaking her head with her eyes closed tightly until the memory faded. Then she blinked and twin tears escaped down her cheeks.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she said, flustered and embarrassed. “I want this! Really I do! I don’t know what’s happening.”

Eric sat back on his heels. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, low and gentle. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Maybe I’m apologizing to myself,” Tris said ruefully, her gaze resting on his broad, well-muscled chest. Eric was most definitely not Peter, in all the best ways.

“We don’t have to rush anything,” Eric told her, breathing hard through his nose as he cooled down, mastered himself. It had felt so good, Tris didn’t want it to be over.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Can we try again?” She reached out for him, and he wrapped her in his arms once more, letting her pull him down atop her as her legs crossed over his spine. Her lips pressed against his clavicle, and her slender fingers snaked up the back of his head, into his close-cropped hair. Overcome, he nudged her chin up and kissed her hard, his hands under her hips as he moved his body against hers. She could feel the heat and hardness of him through the layers of fabric separating them, which simultaneously thrilled and terrified her. Her body was one all-consuming need, but her mind rebelled. She tried desperately to shut it up, pulling Eric tightly against her as his hand on her breast became Peter’s; his hips digging into her abdomen Drew’s. Tris’s chest shuddered with panicky breath.           

“Hey, whoa,” he said into her ear, his hands suddenly on both sides of her face, forcing her to look at him. “It’s me, Tris.”

She nodded, eyes filling with tears again as she put her hands over his. They were angry tears this time; angry that what Peter and Drew had done was getting in between her and Eric as readily as if they were actually in the room. Angry that she couldn’t seem to get control of herself and just allow this to happen.

“We have time, Tris,” Eric told her again, reassuringly. She searched his face for resentment or judgment, but found none.

“You have far more patience than me,” she said, trying to laugh. It came out closer to a sob.

Eric pulled her cheek against his chest, running his fingers through her hair. “I have just enough.” His voice was deep and rich, and Tris closed her eyes and leaned against him, wanting to melt into his heat.

“I feel ridiculous,” she said instead. He froze.

“Why?”

“I…” she searched for the words she wasn’t quite sure she understood herself. “I feel like I’m overreacting. It’s not that big a deal.”

“You don’t feel that; you _think_ that. Stop thinking, Tris. You can’t think your way out of feelings.”

“But you _feel_ so right! I _feel_ safe with you. Why is this happening?”

Eric ran his hands up and down her bare shoulders, warming her. “I don’t know, Tris. But I do know it won’t last forever. Don’t push it.”

He was right, of course. It might not be so bad to take their time.


End file.
